Eat Mor Chikin
by madwriterontheloose
Summary: Rachel, Quinn, and the chick'fil'a cow.


**A/N** I don't own anything.

Quinn would have never have known about it if it weren't for Brittany.

They were just hanging out at a bar after school; Brittany, Santana, and her. It was where they usually found themselves after particularly grueling tests, and it was a great way to unwind. The one great thing about going to NYU, Santana always said, was that the nightlife was wicked. She said there was no way she would've come otherwise.

Quinn and Brittany share knowing looks (a rarity with the other blond) and smile indulgently at the Latina whenever she starts with that rant. They both know Santana came for Brittany.

She had been frantic with worry their final year of high school. It was common knowledge that Brittany wasn't exactly an Einstein (although she did come close to dropping out of school), and Santana really wanted her to go to college. "Neither of us are going to end up being Lima losers," she declared, "even if I have to teach you everything myself!"

Well, it was much, much easier said than done. The week before finals, Santana looked like the living dead. She responded with only grunts and stared vacantly in space. Well, at least that's what Quinn thought she was doing, until she noticed the line of drool sliding down her face. The girl was sleeping with her eyes open.

"You really need to get some rest," Quinn told her. "When people are unable to tell the difference between you and that homeless woman down the street, you know there's a problem."

"I can't!" the Latina moaned, banging her head on a wall. "I need to get B to understand this stuff or she'll fail everything!" Quinn thought it better not to mention that if Santana continued to do what she was doing, they'd both end up failing. Instead, she watched sympathetically from the sidelines, shaking her head. Why she was friends with them, she had no idea. They were both insane.

Fortunately for Brittany, what she lacked in brains she made up in dancing. She was always the best dancer in Glee, and that's how she had gotten noticed. She ended up getting scouted for Julliard, a simply amazing feat. Santana had almost cried in relief, which was an intensely embarrassing moment for her and one she made them swear never to bring up again.

It was touch and go for her, though. Santana had been reviewing fundamentals over and over to teach Brittany-that, coupled with a lack of sleep, spelled bad news with a capital B. Heck, it was bad news in all caps! Even to this day, Quinn does not know how Santana managed to survive, and the other girl refuses to tell her. She suspects drugs. Brittany thinks it must've been aliens.

"I love this city!" Santana crows, in the present. She's cradling her fifth beer and grinning maniacally, white teeth vivid against dark skin. They sit on a table by themselves; Santana to the left of Brittany and Quinn to the right. "I would've never come if it weren't for-"

"Yeah, yeah," Quinn interrupts, rolling her eyes. "We know already." She really doesn't get why Santana can't just admit she came because she didn't want to be separated from her friends. It's one of those weird things with the other girl, like how she hates being seen crying and how she never lets herself say what she's really feeling. It makes it hard to talk to her sometimes, and it kind of annoys her. Brittany thinks it's cute.

"You got a problem, Q?" Santana narrows her eyes. "If you want, I can talk about that incident in high school instead…you know, the one with the pillow and all that tofu? What, you don't remember? I'm sure Kurt does, after all, you did-"

"Shut up!" Quinn screeches, slamming her hands down on the table. "You promised! Never! Again!" She glares at the other girl and Santana just smirks. She leans back on her chair, the picture of confidence.

"Oh? What'll you do if I break that promise, Fabray?" If looks could kill, Santana would have died a thousand deaths by now. Quinn contemplates jumping the other girl and just wringing her neck, but she takes a deep breath and counts slowly to ten. Then she leans back, mirroring Santana's posture.

"Oh thank God!" she exclaims, forcing her voice into a breathy falsetto. "God, Jesus, Buddha, whoever, thank you so much! Forgive me for not believing before, but now you've shown me that miracles really do happen!" She sniffles a bit, dabbing at her eyes as if to wipe away tears. "I love you. I love everyone! I love puppies and ducks and-"

"Oookay, that's enough!" Santana snaps, face red. She leans over and tries to grab the blond, but Quinn leans away and just misses getting strangled to death. "Shut up right now before I shove this glass down your throat! Don't think I won't do it, Quinn!" She glares for a while, but then her shoulders slump in defeat. "I won't say anything; you win." She mutters, "But for the record, my voice so does not sound like that." Quinn smirks and rewards herself with another drink.

"Works every time," she crows. "It's like Santana kryptonite." Santana refuses to look at her. She sits with her arms crossed and sulks like a child. Brittany smiles.

"I like that story, though, S," she says. Santana gives her a wounded look. "What?"

"I hate both of you," she announces. "I hate you more that I hate Rachel Berry and Jacob Ben Israel combined."

"You don't hate me," Brittany tells her confidently, "and Rachel isn't that bad. I like her. She's my classmate still, you know." Quinn cocks an eyebrow at this, and even Santana looks a little curious.

"Really? She goes to Julliard?"

"Yeah. I see her sometimes." Brittany frowns a bit. "I don't think she saw me or heard me though, because when I yelled her name she didn't turn around."

"She's ignoring you!" Santana snorts, "She probably thinks she's better than you or something."

"So you've never spoken?" Quinn asks, confused. But then again, she doesn't really like talking to people she's known from high school either. Most of them only remember her as 'the celibacy club president-slash-cheerleader who got knocked up.'

"I called her but she didn't hear me, remember?" Brittany reminds her.

"I remember," she says. "So that was the last you saw of her?"

"Yeah," Brittany nods, frowning a bit. Then she smiles brightly. "Oh, but I tried to say hi louder, too!"

"Good for you, B," Santana says dryly, already bored with the conversation. "Wanna go see a movie or something?"

"She didn't hear me that time either," Brittany continues, ignoring Santana. "I thought singers were supposed to have really good hearing."

"They are," Quinn tells her, "and I'm pretty sure Rachel does."

"Then her ears must not have been working that day." Brittany's look turns contemplative. "I wonder if I can turn off my ears."

"What, is there someone you want to ignore?" Santana asks, amused. "But seriously, let's go see a movie. C'mon, guys, I'm bored!"

"Anyways," Brittany goes on, and Santana groans in frustration. Quinn shakes her head at their antics, and sips at her drink. "I really wanted to say hi. It would've been fun. So I followed her."

"You what?" Quinn sputters, spitting out all the liquid in her mouth. "That's really creepy, Brittany! It's stalkerish."

"And that's disgusting," Santana says, looking down at her disdainfully. "Don't call her creepy when you're a creep too, Q."

"…I followed her until she went into Chick-Fil-A. You know, the one between Starbucks and that scary bookstore. I went inside too, but I couldn't find her." Brittany pouts. "I waited a long time, too! But I think I know what happened to her…" She leans in secretively, and Quinn finds herself leaning forwards and holding her breath, even though this is totally ridiculous. "I think the people who work there dragged her into the back room and turned her into a cow!" Brittany whispers dramatically. All is silent for a moment; before Quinn noisily exhales the breath she was holding and bursts out laughing.

"No way!" she chuckles. "You're crazy, B." Brittany crosses her arms and shakes her head solemnly. Her ponytail swings and hits Santana in the face.

"Ugh! Brittany!" Santana scowls, swiping at the offending hair. "Watch it!"

"I'm being serious!" Brittany insists. "I saw Rachel go in, but she never came out! And then this cow appeared!"

"Wait…you mean the mascot? The one with "Eat Mor Chikin" written on the back?"

"Yeah!" Brittany nods emphatically. "You've seen it happen, too, S?" She smiles a little self satisfied smile. "I always knew I was spelling chicken right the whole time…it only has one c!"

"Berry's working as the Chick'Fil'A mascot! That's hilarious!" Santana chortles. "I'm definitely going over there with a camera!" Quinn rolls her eyes at them, but she's giggling too.

"You don't know for sure," she points out. "Maybe she was just holed up in the bathroom."

"Come on," Santana says, "you know it's true." She sighs, still smiling. "I wonder how Ms. Broadway ended up with a gig like that." The three of them laugh about it for a while more and end up talking about their high school classmates for another hour or so. After, they head off to see a movie. By the end of the night, they've forgotten all about Rachel Berry and her escapades as Chick'Fil'A cow.

But out of mind does not mean out of sight.

It's completely by accident that Quinn walks down that street as she's heading to her apartment. She's still getting used to the terrain of the city, after all. She didn't even remember the story Brittany told them until she spotted the fast food restaurant. Then the memory comes rushing back to her and she stands stock still, just staring at it. She has two choices now: continue going home to a night of homework and tv, or walk into the place and see if it's really Rachel Berry in that cow. Quinn smirks. It's not a choice at all, she thinks as she strolls to the glass door and opens it. She's going in.

Outwardly, the place looked like every fast food restaurant Quinn had ever seen. They always seemed to be in the same nondescript type of building with the same kind of roof; the only difference being the sign adorning the front. It was funny, then, how Quinn entered this one with a sense of anticipation and excitement.

…Well, it wasn't like the inside was particularly different from other places, either. When Quinn walked in she took in the expected tables and chairs and counters; people chowing down on chicken sandwiches and fries as employees took orders and served food. There was a playpen in an adjoining room with brightly colored slides and a jungle gym. In it was also one of those cage things with all the plastic balls on the bottom. All in all, pretty standard fare. The blond scanned the room for the fabled cow, and sighed when she failed to spot it. Maybe Brittany was just being crazy like she thought?

Only a sharp intake of breath from somewhere to her right gave Quinn hope again. She turned her head so quickly she was afraid she might've cricked her neck and looked for the one who made the noise. All she saw were more tables and chairs. Confused, and a little disappointed, Quinn was about to give up and leave when she caught a flicker of white and black in the corner of her eye. Something was cowering under one of the tables, futilely trying to block themselves from view by using chairs. Quinn smirks. It was the cow.

Quinn walks cautiously and quietly towards it, like a lion hunting its prey and trying not to scare it off. It was an apt description, since it was a cow...not that Quinn has any lion costumes or anything. Really, she doesn't.

When she reaches the table successfully without making noise, Quinn crouches down very, very carefully. She can't help but feel like she's in a discovery channel documentary or something. See the predator. Watch as it stalks its prey silently and deadly. It pounces! And then the screen cuts to prevent sullying the innocence of young children.

Well, Quinn doesn't pounce. All she does is say, very slowly: "What are you doing, Rachel?"

The cow, which had been huddling with its head tucked underneath its arms, jumps and bangs its head on the bottom of the table.

"Ouch!" it cries out in a high-pitched, obviously female voice. "I mean-" it coughs, crawling out from under the table. "-what are you talking about? There's no one named Rachel here." This is said in a much deeper tone. The cow stands up, dusting itself off. "If there was an employee with that name, I certainly would have seen them, and as I've yet to, obviously they don't exist!"

"Only Rachel would fit that many unnecessary words into one sentence," Quinn says, eyeing the cow. It's shorter than her, and the costume was made with taller people in mind. She notices bobby pins sticking out haphazardly, holding up the excess material. "And you're just as short as she is."

"That doesn't mean anything," the cow says petulantly in its pseudo-deep voice. Quinn knows that the person inside is pouting, even as the cow head grins maniacally at her. "Plenty of people are 5'2, and I happen to like using a lot of words. They allow me to communicate what it is that I want to say much more effectively."

"I never said Rachel was 5'2," Quinn points out with an 'ah ha!' expression on her face. The cow waggles one black and white finger at her.

"Well you said that we were the same height, therefore it's only natural that I would assume she's 5'2 since I'm 5'2." Quinn frowns at her, hands on her hips.

"You're Rachel! Just admit it!"

"No!"

"You are!"

"I'm not!" Quinn throws her arms into the air, exasperated.

"Why won't you admit it? Brittany even saw you!"

"She did?" The cow realizes its mistake as soon as it finishes speaking, and hits itself in the head with one hand, groaning. Quinn smirks.

"Got you," she gloats. The cow's expression remains the same, but she knows that Rachel's glaring at her. "It really is Rachel Berry in that cow!"

"Yes, it is," the cow scoffs, crossing its arms. Its voice returns to its usual pitch. "What now, are you going to laugh at me?"

"Well first," Quinn sits down at a vacant table, grinning up at it for once, "I want you to bring me some food."

"I don't have to do that!" The cow protests, stomping one hoof on the ground. It only makes a muffled thumping sound, which is nowhere near good enough for the diva. She makes to grab Quinn's bag so she can slam it on the floor or something, but Quinn slaps her hand away.

"This is a fast food chain store," the cow growls, "not a high end restaurant! And in case you haven't noticed, I'm not a waitress!"

"What happened to 'the customer is always right'?" Quinn complains.

"I'm sure whoever made that statement never had someone like you in mind!" the cow hisses back.

"Whatever," Quinn says, annoyed. She places her elbows on the table and slouches forwards until her head is resting in her hands. "Then what do you do?"

"That's bad manners, Quinn," the cow says, "elbows off the table."

"This is a fast food chain store, not a high end restaurant!" Quinn parrots mockingly. "I can do whatever I want to. And," she says, eyebrows raised to emphasize her point, "you didn't answer my question." The cow sighs.

"I walk around the store and wave at people. That's it," it confesses grudgingly. "Now if you don't mind, I need to go back to work."

"No way!" Quinn fakes disbelief. "You don't even get to talk? How do you stand it?" She laughs. "Why aren't you manning the cashier or something?" The cow's head drops, and it shuffles its feet/hooves.

"I was…for a while," it admits sheepishly.

"Oh yeah? What happened? Did you talk too much and annoy the customers? Compare the health benefits of each item on the menu? Or did you end up annoying the other employees?"

"…" Quinn takes the silence as an admission.

"Seriously? I was right?" Quinn chuckles. "So, which one was it; the first, second, or third?"

"…"

"Wait…does that mean all three were right?" Quinn stares at the cow incredulously. "You can't be serious."

"I'm always serious, Quinn," it says, sounding peeved, "you should know that by now. And I believe that the customers should fully understand what it is they're eating before they eat it. You can't expect people to make healthy choices when they don't have all the facts, and our country has a huge problem with obesity-"

"Save it for someone who cares," Quinn interrupts. "When I want to eat a greasy, unhealthy burger, then I go and eat one."

"You used to care," the cow points out, "I clearly remember you only having those protein shakes Ms. Sylvester makes."

"When you're pregnant, you learn to eat more," Quinn says shortly, sitting up straight again and turning her face away. She doesn't like talking about that period of her life. Neither of them say anything for several moments.

"Quinn…" the cow begins haltingly, "I didn't mean to offend-"

"BERRY!" a booming voice shouts, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING NOT WORKING! THERE ARE CHILDREN HERE WHO COULD USE A LITTLE VISIT FROM A NICE COW!"

"I'm coming!" The cow yells back, annoyed. It gives one last glance in Quinn's direction, hesitating, before leaving. Quinn watches out of the corner of her eye as the cow swaggers toward a group of kids, waving both hands. She can't help but smile a bit as they tug on its arms, trying to get it to take pictures with them. Quinn stays for a few more minutes, and then gets up, sighing. She's got homework to do.

That was their first meeting.

The second time Quinn walks down that street is by choice. It's not that she wants to see Rachel or anything; it's just that she felt she should apologize for the way she wigged out on the girl the other day. She was being ridiculous.

The way Quinn goes into the store gives her a huge sense of déjà vu. The place looks exactly the same (of course), and the feelings swirling at the pit of her stomach are the same, too. The one difference is that this time Rachel doesn't dive under a table when she sees Quinn come in. The cow is just walking around, bouncing with every step as it waves at the people eating. When it spots her, it immediately changes directions.

"Rachel," Quinn says, squaring her shoulders, "I just came to say I'm sorry for-"

"You didn't eat anything last time," the cow interrupts, grabbing her arm. The fabric is soft and fuzzy against her skin. "Go sit down." It drags Quinn away to a seat by the window and pushes her down into it.

"Wait here while I get you some food," the cow orders, before promptly leaving. Quinn, a bit confused, complies. She twines her fingers anxiously as she waits. Pretty soon the cow shows up again, walking cautiously towards Quinn with a tray full of food. Quinn notices that some of the bobby pins have fallen out and with every step Rachel takes she ends up stepping on the too long pant legs. The sight makes her giggle.

"I took the liberty of picking out the healthiest meal on the whole menu," the cow tells her as it sets the tray down in front of her. "You should thank me." Quinn nods solemnly.

"Thank you," she says. "You are a wonderful, amazing person. What could I ever have done without you?" She giggles again, and says more normally, "Psych. I already have a mom, Rachel." She sticks her tongue out at the cow. "I don't need another one."

The cow doesn't say anything for a while, and Quinn wonders if she did something wrong. Then it coughs.

"Better to have two moms than none at all," it says lightly.

"I'm sorry," Quinn says immediately, "I didn't-" The cow plops down in the seat across from her and waves off her apology.

"It's okay," it says, "that doesn't bother me anymore." Quinn regards it critically for a moment, but she can't tell if that was a lie. She wishes she could see Rachel's expression right now, instead of the cow's eternally smiling face.

"You're sure?" she asks carefully. The cow nods.

"Yeah. I have two dads who love me very much. What else could I need?"

"Oh…Then what was it I said that bothered you so much earlier?"

"Nothing." It turns away, sounding embarrassed. Now that Quinn knows is a lie.

"That's twice you've apologized to me," the cow changes the subject. Quinn narrows her eyes, but lets it slide. "You never used to apologize." Quinn shrugs.

"People change," she says simply. "Just yesterday you told me you weren't a waitress and yet here you are now, serving me food." The cow nods.

"Food that you aren't eating," it accuses. Quinn crosses her arms, scowling.

"I'm going to eat it!" she defends. "It just makes me uncomfortable when people stare at me while I eat." When she notices the cow's shoulders shaking in silent laughter, she gets even more upset. "It's not funny; it's weird! And anyways, aren't you supposed to be working?"

"My feet are tired," the cow explains. "This job requires me to be peppy and cheerful all the time and I know I may seem like I do, but I don't have a bottomless well of energy. I need to take breaks, too." Despite this statement, the cow starts to rise. "However, if my presence really prevents you from eating, then I can go." Quinn leans over quickly and grabs its shoulders, forcing it back down.

"Okay, you can go back to work. Just wait a bit, okay?" The cow tilts its head in confusion, but doesn't move. Quinn gets out of her seat and goes to stand on the other side of the table, next to it.

"Turn to face me," Quinn commands, and waits as the cow brings its feet out from under the table. When it's fully turned, she kneels and begins fixing the falling bobby pins.

"You're going to end up tripping and killing yourself if you keep walking around like this," Quinn mutters. There's no response, and she does the rest of the work in silence. When she's done, she pats Rachel's knee and looks up, sporting a satisfied smile.

"There," Quinn says, still kneeling. "All better." The cow just stares impassively back down at her. Quinn starts to get uncomfortable, and wishes again she could see Rachel's face. Finally, the cow coughs.

"Thanks, Quinn," it says softly, "but do you mind moving?"

"Oh," Quinn gets out of the way quickly, embarrassed. Rachel was just waiting for her to stop blocking the way. "Sorry."

The cow gets up. "Yeah. I'll see you later. Remember to finish all your food." With that, it leaves. Quinn goes back to her seat and drops unceremoniously back into it, sighing. She stares at her tray, contemplating, before reaching over, grabbing a fry, and plopping it into her mouth. Her meal is eaten in silence.

It's only when she leaves that she realizes Rachel paid for her food.

The third time Quinn goes to Chick'Fil'A is also by choice. But again, it's not like she wanted to see Rachel or anything. She just needs to pay her back the money she owes her.

When she goes in, Rachel is already amusing a whole bunch of little kids, who keep tugging at her. Quinn decides to sit down and wait for the other girl to be finished. She pulls out her wallet in advance and keeps observing their interaction. With all that pulling, Quinn muses, it's no wonder her bobby pins keep falling off.

When the children are called back to eat their sandwiches, Quinn watches as the cow straights up, stretching. It shakes its head a little bit.

"Excuse me, is everything okay here?" A voice asks, and Quinn tears her gaze away. A Chick'Fil'A employee is standing in front of her. When he sees he has her attention, he smiles.

"You were just staring off into space, so I was a little worried," he explains. "Aren't you going to order anything?" Quinn shrugs.

"No, I'm waiting for someone," she responds vaguely, "I'm not really that hungry." The boy scratches his head, still smiling.

"You arrange meetings with friends in fast food restaurants?" he says, a little bemused, "and you don't even come to eat?" Quinn flushes a bit at that, because, yeah, that sounds kind of weird.

"They work here," she defends, "that's why." She wonders why this guy is standing in front of her-there aren't supposed to be any waiters.

"Oh," he says, "that's cool. I wish I had people coming here to visit me. Especially," and here his smile turns shy, "if they're as beautiful as you are." Oh God, Quinn thinks, her face turning into a shade of red that could make even tomatoes jealous, this guy's flirting with me.

She runs a hand through her hair nervously, looking him up and down. Well, at least he's not ugly. In fact, he's kind of cute. The boy coughs anxiously, shifting from one foot to the other, and Quinn realizes she was quiet for too long.

"Uh, thank you," she responds, giving him a genuine smile, because everyone likes being told they're beautiful.

"Y-You don't have to thank me or anything," he stutters hastily, "I just have eyes that work." He twists his hands. "I'm surprised no one's said it before me."

"I guess they just aren't as smart as you are," Quinn teases. What, a little flirting never hurt anyone!

"Yeah…" he's the one who's red as a tomato now. "They're all stupid!" He groans and does a face-palm. "…Oh man, that was so lame. You must think I'm a total dork." He tries to smile, but it comes off as more of a grimace. "I'm not usually this inarticulate."

"The stuttering was a bit weird," Quinn admits, and he groans again. She decides to cut him some slack. "But the attempt was sweet." He looks up hopefully.

"Oh yeah?" he begins, "You really think so-"

"Excuse me," the cow coughs, "shouldn't you be getting to work?" They both look up to see it standing next to them, arms crossed. It taps one hoof impatiently. "You're not getting paid to talk to girls."

"O-oh," the boy says, "I-I'll just be going now." He rushes off without looking back, obviously embarrassed. The cow snorts and sits down across from Quinn again.

"I thought you liked them more confident," it says, arms still crossed. "I never pegged you as one who enjoyed the quiet, shy type."

"Whatever," Quinn pouts. "We were just talking a bit. He called me beautiful, and I didn't even get to hear his name."

"He called you beautiful?" the cow scoffs. "Please. Anyone could have said that; it's not like it's a secret. And you're not supposed to talk to other people when you come to visit me."

"I didn't come to visit you!" Quinn protests. "I just came to pay you back for yesterday." She fumbles around a bit and grabs her wallet, holding it up triumphantly. "See?"

The cow just gazes at her, looking unimpressed (but then again, it never looks anything but happy), and doesn't take the wallet.

"You couldn't have given it to Brittany to pay me back?" it asks. "You really had to come all the way here just to give it to me?" Quinn frowns.

"How do I know you're not going to ignore her like you did when she was calling for you?" she points out, proud of her reasoning. "And it's Brittany; she might have forgotten."

"You didn't even think of that until just now," the cow accuses. Quinn rolls her eyes, shoving her wallet at it.

"You don't know that," she says, getting kind of annoyed. "Just take the money already."

"I don't want to," the cow says huffily. "You can keep it."

"Take it!" she snaps, not getting why Rachel's being so ridiculous.

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!" Quinn screams. Rachel doesn't say any thing, and Quinn realizes that the whole place has gone silent; everyone's staring at them. She ends up feeling extremely annoyed and embarrassed.

"Fine," she growls, "don't take it." She gets up and flees without looking back, mortified.

Quinn ends up giving Brittany the money and telling her to give it to Rachel. The other blond looks confused, but dutifully does as she's told.

"You've been meeting with Rachel?" Brittany asks after the deed is done. "Does that mean you guys are friends now?"

"No," Quinn retorts, "I've just seen her around, and she paid for me once. That doesn't mean we're friends." Brittany tilts her head, still confused.

"Quinn," she says, "you're talking like Santana now. Why don't you talk like yourself?"

"What does that mean?" Quinn asks. Brittany shakes her head.

"Don't you already know?" she says. "You always say it annoys you, but I guess you like speaking that way too." Quinn just forces a smile and nods like she understands what Brittany is saying, even when she doesn't.

The fourth time Quinn finds herself in front of Chick'Fil'A is an accident. It's pretty late; later than she came the last times, because Quinn was discussing her research project with a professor. After, she was just walking around without thinking about where she was going, and somehow her feet landed her here. Quinn supposes that it must be habit now-it's not like she wanted to come. But now that she's here, she figures she might as well go in.

Only, she's a little nervous as she walks through the door. She can't help but remember the embarrassed way she left last time. Maybe this is a bad idea, she thinks, looking around. There aren't as many people here, because it's around 6. And plus she doesn't even know when Rachel's shift ends (not that she came to see her or anything). She decides-what the heck, she might as well order something to go.

As Quinn walks to the counter, an obviously annoyed voice says from behind her: "What did you come for this time?" She turns; it's the cow.

"Nothing," Quinn says, averting her gaze, "I just ended up here. It must have been habit." The cow snorts, and Quinn wonders what she did to make Rachel so mad at her. Then again, maybe yelling at her in front of everyone was a bad idea.

"I'm sorry," she says tentatively, "for screaming at you the other day." As she watches, the cow's posture wilts in front of her.

"It's fine," it says, and now it only sounds tired. "I don't care about that." Okay, then what's the problem?

"Oh," is all Quinn says though, and she feels awkward. "I'll just, um, order now." She does, but the whole time she feels like she's being stared at. It makes her uncomfortable.

When she turns to leave, the cow is still standing there. She shuffles past, not looking directly at it and wishing she hadn't come.

"Quinn," the cow says abruptly, and Quinn halts. "I'll be done working soon. If you wait for me, I'll just get changed and I can walk you home."

Quinn smiles for the first time since walking in, but shakes her head. "It's fine; you don't have to do that for me." She glances at the cow one last time. "Thank you, though." With that, she leaves, but as she does Quinn almost thinks she heard someone say "But I want to."

It must have been her imagination.

The fifth time she goes it is by force. Santana heard that Quinn had asked Brittany to give money to Rachel and made her tell the Latina about how she really is working as the Chick'Fil'A mascot. Santana, camera in hand, insists that they all go together. And when the word 'insist' is used, please instead replace it with the words 'promised copious amounts of pain if anyone refused her.' Quinn has no choice but to oblige, but she can't help but feel like this is a bad idea.

Santana throws open the door and stalks through like she owns the place, barking "Berry! I know you're a cow! Get your ass over here!"

"S," Quinn scolds, "there are kids around!" She sighs and follows the volatile girl to a table.

"I thought asses were donkeys, not cows," Brittany says.

"Berry!" Santana yells again.

"Please stop yelling," the cow says, materializing in front of them, "you're bothering the other customers."

"Rachel!" Brittany greets, smiling sweetly. "How is it, being a cow?"

"It's fine," it says, facing Brittany. "Sometimes it gets a little hot in here, but otherwise it's the same as every other mundane, boring job there is."

"Whatever," Santana snorts, before pulling her camera out at taking a picture. The cow raises its arms to shield its face.

"Hey!"

"What?" Santana says, "it's not like you aren't taking pictures all the time with these brats." She smirks. "Just think of it as training for when you're famous and have paparazzi tailing you. Plus, it'll make a great Christmas card."

"I'm Jewish!" the cow protests, stomping a hoof angrily. "I don't celebrate Christmas. And when I'm famous, they won't be taking pictures of me in a cow suit!"

"Well, who knows," Santana retorts, "maybe you'll end up being famous for being the first mascot that annoys people to death by talking too much." The cow glares at Santana, or at least tries to (it's still smiling).

"Why did you come?" it says, puffing up to its full height, which isn't really that tall. "If you just came to make fun of me, I suggest you leave now." Santana rolls her eyes before rapping the table.

"Food! We came for food!" Santana says. "Why don't you bring us some?"

"Please?" Brittany adds. Quinn, feeling out of place and embarrassed, gives Rachel an apologetic glance. The cow isn't even looking at her.

"I'm not a waitress," the cow snaps, "If you want to eat something, then you should get up and order for yourself." Santana scowls, but she gets up anyways.

"Fine," she says, "I will." The Latina flips her hair over her shoulders and walks to the counter. Quinn watches her lean over it to begin ordering the poor employees around.

"Why are you a cow, Rachel?" Brittany asks.

"I know that one day I will be a star, and money will be the least of my worries," the cow says. "Unfortunately, that day is not here yet."

"Yeah, and I doubt the day will ever come," Santana responds moodily, throwing two trays on the table and collapsing in her seat. She's sulking.

"It will," the cow insists, "and then Rachel Berry will become a household name."

"Not," Santana says nastily, picking at the food. "Let's face it, Berry, what's the likelihood of you actually becoming famous? There are millions of people around the world who dream of making it big, and you're just one of them." Quinn and Brittany say nothing, and also poke at their food.

"I'm not," the cow says indignantly. "I'm talented."

"That's what they all say. And then they end up being forty, still living with their parents, and working at McDonald's." Santana smirks. "Or Chick'Fil'A. Looks like you've already gotten one of those down, huh, Berry?" She nudges Quinn. "You agree with me, don't you?"

"Huh?" Quinn responds, not liking being shoved into the conversation. "I-I…uh…" she stutters, not knowing what the right thing to say is. They stare at her silently, and Quinn can't help but think that she's disappointing both.

"Rachel's really good at singing, though," Brittany chirps, saving Quinn. "S, didn't you say that out of all of us in glee, she was the most likely to end up on Broadway?" Santana turns red.

"I never said that, B!" she snaps angrily, "you must have heard wrong!" Brittany just smiles at her.

"Oh. I'm pretty sure you did, though."

"I didn't!" The cow coughs, interrupting their spat.

"If that's it," it says softly, "then I'll be going back to work." The three of them stare after it as it walks away from them.

"I think you hurt her feelings, S." Quinn says. Santana shakes her head, but she looks a bit guilty. Brittany shrugs.

"I don't think Santana hurt her feelings," she says, smiling at her friend. They start chatting about everyday stuff like homework and teachers as they eat, but Quinn finds herself looking around for a glimpse of black and white. She doesn't see it anywhere and it makes her worried. She gets up.

"I'll, uh, I'll be back," she tells her friends. Santana and Brittany get up too, picking up the trays.

"Don't bother," the Latina says, going to throw away the trash. "We're leaving, so you can do whatever you want." Brittany moves as if to follow, but then stops.

"You didn't get what I said the other day, right?" the blond says, "About you talking like S does?" She goes on without waiting for Quinn to answer, "Just say what you really feel, okay?" Brittany flashes her another smile, before following the other girl. Quinn shakes her head, bemused, and looks around again. Where is Rachel?

Deciding that the ones most likely to know where the cow went would be a child, Quinn corners one. He stares up at her solemnly; his parents are looking at them anxiously.

"Have you seen the cow?" she asks seriously. He nods, before pointing towards the playpen. "In

there," he says just as seriously. "You're not going to yell at it again, are you?"

"I promise, there will be no yelling involved," she says, shooting him a smile. Reassured, he goes back to his worried parents.

Quinn approaches the place cautiously and squints. Amongst the reds, blues, and purples she

manages to spot black and white. The cow is sitting at the very top of the jungle gym. Feeling a little silly, she ducks into it and begins crawling upwards. She's way too old (and big) for this. It takes her a while, but she finally makes it to the top and tentatively takes a seat next to the cow, who's just staring off into the distance. Below them, the children playing glance at them curiously.

"Hey," Quinn says, "what are you doing up here?"

"Sitting," the cow responds. "You're not supposed to be here; you're too tall. I, on the other hand, still fit the height requirements."

"I'm sorry." Quinn decides to ignore that. She twirls a blonde lock nervously. "I didn't want to bring them. And I really do think that you have a good chance at becoming a star." At this, the cow turns to face her. Not for the first time, Quinn wishes she could see Rachel's face.

"You really think so?" The cow doesn't sound as uncertain as Quinn though it would. "I think so too."

"Yeah," Quinn says, not knowing what else to say. The cow just keeps staring at her, and neither of them says anything for a long moment.

"I have a confession to make," the cow says abruptly. Quinn blinks, and the cow continues, "Actually, I have more than one."

"Okay." Quinn responds hesitantly. The cow is silent again, and then it starts speaking slowly and softly.

"The first time you came, I thought you were going to treat me the exact same way Santana just did," it says. "That's why I hid. In hindsight, hiding made me much more suspicious, and I should have just acted normal, but I digress."

"The first time you came, I suppose it was just to sate your curiosity about what Brittany said. The second time, you came to apologize." The cow stops speaking, and when it starts up again, it sounds embarrassed.

"That day, you said something and then noticed that I was acting strange. You asked me what bothered me, remember? And I responded 'nothing,' but I was lying." It twists its hands in its lap. "You called me amazing. I realize that it was said in jest, but that was the first time someone outside of my family has ever said that to me."

"Oh," Quinn says, startled. She hadn't realized it meant that much to the other girl. "You are, though," she adds honestly. The cow nods.

"Thank you," it says, and Quinn can hear the smile in Rachel's voice.

"But, that's not all," it goes on. "I want to tell you why I got so upset with you." The cow pauses. "On the third day, you came to pay me back. And on the fourth, you came because it was a habit."

"Yeesss," Quinn says slowly, not knowing where this is going. The cow shakes its head.

"You really don't get it?" it sounds disappointed. "I thought you were on honor roll, Quinn." Quinn doesn't say anything, and the cow sighs.

"I don't want you to have to make an excuse to see me, Quinn," Rachel says, "I want you to come because you want to come, not because you feel obligated or because you didn't mean to." Quinn opens and closes her mouth, doing an excellent fish impersonation. She doesn't know what to say.

"I know," she continues, "that we weren't exactly friends in high school. But would it really be that bad to want to see me, Quinn? And let's face it, your excuses were pretty mediocre at best." The cow sighs in frustration. "I don't like that you needed them."

"I think it's safe to assume that you kept coming because you enjoyed spending time with me. Maybe, just maybe, you even considered me a friend. I don't know; that's just what I think." The cow stares at Quinn. "But I want to hear you say it out loud. Tell me what you really feel, Quinn. Please."

"I…" Quinn says. "I really want to see your face right now, Rachel." She doesn't know why she felt like saying that all of the sudden, but she does know that she can't spill her heart out to a mask. She wants to know what kind of expression Rachel's wearing right now; she wants to see her. "Can you please take that off?"

The cow hesitates, before reaching up and grabbing the sides of its head. Slowly, it pulls it off, and shakes itself out, brown hair flying.

"There," Rachel says, "is that better?" Quinn just stares, because this is the first time she's seen the other girl face-to-face since graduating high school. It's funny, she thinks, her memory must be off a bit. She never remembered Rachel's hair being that brown, her eyes being that expressive. She doesn't remember her being that pretty.

"Yeah," is all Quinn says. "Thanks." The brunette is staring at her with an uncertain, hopeful look, and compared to the artificial smile Quinn has been seeing the whole time she's struck speechless by it.

"Quinn?" Rachel says, "Aren't you going to say something?" Quinn shakes her head, trying to snap out of it.

"I'm sorry," she begins, before smiling. "I seem to be saying that to you a lot. But I really am." She pauses. "I didn't mean to make you feel like I had to have an excuse to see you-I mean, I didn't realize that I was doing that myself. I'm sorry I've been hurting your feelings."

"I guess I'm just not very good at saying what I really think." Her expression turns self-deprecating. "And here I thought Santana was the bad one."

"I do…" she stops again, and takes a deep breath. "I really do like hanging out with you like this. I'd be happy if you consider me your friend. I like you, Rachel. I'm not embarrassed to be seen with you."

"Really?" Rachel says, staring at her face searchingly. "So it would be okay even if I called you my best friend?" Quinn nods, smiling. "Even if…" Rachel begins, but then she hesitates, shaking her head.

"What?" Quinn asks, but Rachel doesn't say anymore. She beams at her, though, and wraps her arms around Quinn in a hug. They stay like that for a while.

"I want to walk you home." Rachel finally whispers. "Will you wait for me?" Quinn giggles a little bit, because her breath tickles. She pats Rachel on the back.

"Sure." Quinn says. "I don't mind waiting for you."

**Author's Rant: **Okay, so the ending was a little lackluster. And I don't really know Rachel's height(I put mine instead). It's all good though, right?

I wrote this as an attempt to get away from all the angsty stuff I've been writing lately. This is funny/fluffy(for me). I know my sense of humor is different from some-I like fast-paced, witty dialogue like what they have in Pushing Daisies. And I like morbid humor(not that I could use any of that for a fluff piece). But hey, I tried.

I totally get that I should be writing for my multi-chapter story, but what can I say: I'm easily sidetracked. And I don't know if all Chick'Fil'A's have a cow mascot, but the one I go to does. If yours doesn't then well, whoops.

I realize that this story is hugely sub-textual. There is subtext, but that's only because, as I've said before, writing actual romance makes me hugely uncomfortable. I prefer to leave that to people who know what they're talking about. And plus, it let's the people interpret what I write however they want to.

I hope that after you read this, every time you walk into a Chick'Fil'A you think of me. :)


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